


One Night Only (23 in 1)

by Incog_Ninja



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, And Ass, And he likes sex toys, Ass Play, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dean Playing Big Brother Until He Isn't, Dean's Big Everywhere, F/M, Forehead Kisses, He's also really good at sex, He's just good, Kissing, Real good, Sexually Liberated Dean Winchester, Sexually Liberated OFC, Shameless Smut, Shower Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, and loves eating pussy, eye fucking, glass dildo, ok?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 03:46:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Incog_Ninja
Summary: While on a job in the middle of America, Dean enjoys a rigorous night of mutual gratification with a local art student.





	One Night Only (23 in 1)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.
> 
> Glass Jacket and I were chatting about Dean’s one night stands and if they’re really satisfying for him and/or his partner. I posited that, since he’s usually hooking up with young, Midwestern women (I grew up in the Midwest, so no judgment) who may not be super experienced and/or may not be super liberated, he might be excited for something a little different. (Like Slice Girls, but without the rapid pregnancy/child growth and subsequent attempted patricide.) Below is the conversation we had.
> 
> Me: I was definitely leaning toward creating a full-color representation of a sexually liberated young woman  
> and maybe have Dean be like “fuck, yes, this never happens!”
> 
> GJ: YES TO EVERYTHING RIGHT HERE
> 
> Me: like, yeah, he gets laid all the time, but does he really tear it up?  
> probably not
> 
> GJ: Not like we know he can  
> Not in the way he wants to
> 
> Me: and yeah, he’s pretty and has a beautiful body and girls get all turned on and jump on his dick, but it’s probably mostly vanilla and cuddling  
> like pillow talk with a side of getting his dick wet  
> and, yeah, he likes all that because they probably feed him and mother him a little  
> but to really get his fuck on?  
> that’d be fun
> 
> GJ: He’s definitely in need of some mothering, but he also needs to be with someone he knows he won’t break (just see how far it can bend... again and again, again and againnnnn....)  
> Like he needs someone to service him beyond a bubbly blowjob and coffee in the am
> 
> SO! Shall we begin?

She keeps reminding herself of how much money she’s going to make tonight because she knows that’s the only way she’ll get through it without setting someone on fire. They’re down one bartender so they pulled their DJ and people are being assholes that they have to put money in the jukebox and there’s no karaoke tonight. She’s thanking god for the latter and couldn’t care less about the former, but she really fucking hates the constant complaining.

 

“The fuck even is this music?” some random college ass whines.

 

She squints into the air at the invisible sound waves, as if they’ll answer for her so she can speak to this moron as little as possible. “AC/DC?” she replies with a small sigh and a large dose of eye roll suppression. “Can I get you something to drink?”

 

“Two vodka Red Bulls,” his friend says, scanning her up and down. “And your phone number.” He leers and she wishes for a flamethrower.

 

She smiles sickly sweet. “Real original,” she deadpans. “Two douche drinks, comin’ up.” She walks away from their misogynist protestations and rounds the games area.

 

Usually, the people who hang out back there get their own drinks, but she runs through every once in awhile to collect empties and trash. Plus, there’re two guys back there tonight who are hot as fuck, hustling frat boys out of their trust fund folding money, and tipping her like a couple of daddies.

 

She scoops up debris and dirty glassware before sidling up behind the one with the pussy-eating mouth and all the pretty freckles. He’s chalking his cue in the most smart-ass way – like he doesn’t really _need_ to but he really _wants_ to prolong the inevitable evisceration of these little boys who thought they were hustling _him_.

 

“You’re so bad,” she whispers in his ear, reaching for his empty whiskey glass and checking his and his friend’s beers. The giant nods, waving his empty bottle at her with a smile and she nods back.

 

“Sweetheart, you have no idea,” Freckles tosses over his shoulder with a smirk before tossing the chalk over his other shoulder and sauntering over to the table to take his shot. She stands to watch, resisting the urge to sink her teeth through her bottom lip because guys who can play pool like he plays pool – especially roughneck hustlers – are so her fucking jam. She shifts her weight and draws a long breath, rubbing her legs together, fantasizing about the other things she wants him to do with that cue, as he runs the table without hesitation.

 

As the losers erupt into chaos, she turns with a smirk of her own and makes her way to the bar to place orders for the dickbags at table 8 and her favorite hustlers. She hears fist crashing into bone and wonders if she should wait to place their order. Then the bouncer and her manager fly by her into the games room.

 

“Your boy’s pretty rowdy,” Monika, the head bartender, brings the douche drinks to her grinning and nodding toward the back of the bar.

 

She turns to see Freckles sitting back against a stool with his mostly empty beer bottle against his cheek, while the giant explains the situation to our manager. The bouncer escorts the other two guys out and she stifles a laugh as she turns to nod to Monika to prep fresh beers for them before grabbing the vodka Red Bulls for delivery. “Pour another whiskey, too, Mon. And maybe an ice pack?”

 

She moves to table 8, whips napkins onto the table surface, and sets the drinks down. “Twelve, please,” she says, shaking her sleek, black hair over her shoulders, batting her eyelashes and smiling _that smile_. Douche Canoe #2 hands her a ten and a five and as she reaches for it, pulls back ever so slightly, like this is how adult people flirt. She doesn’t suppress her eye roll this time.

 

“Dude,” she says with a sigh. “Your drinks are twelve dollars and I’m not buying.”

 

DC2’s gaze rises to look over her head just before she feels full-body heat at her back. “Hey, sis, everything ok?” It’s Freckles. She twists to look over her shoulder and up into his face with a grin. Damn, he’s big.

 

Mila decides that he loves trouble, gravitates towards it, and the thought sends another surge of heat through her veins. The giant appears at her side then, too, brows raised in question.

 

“Yep,” she answers. “All good.” She turns to face her asshole customers, who are now sitting straight as rods awash is a mixture of fear and confusion. Freckles has implied that they’re siblings and that is clearly not the case; they bear no resemblance to each other whatsoever. “I’m adopted,” she quips. “Twelve bucks.” She holds out her hand and DC2 slowly hands her the money. She snatches it from his grip.

 

“Keep it,” he mumbles. He and his friend turn their attention to their drinks.

 

Freckles has moved from behind her and he and the giant follow her to the bar. As she’s cashing in her last order, they belly up next to her. Freckles slides a twenty across the bar top and repeats DC2’s instruction to keep the change.

 

“Thanks,” she says closing out their order as well. The madness of the evening is starting to ebb, so she thinks it’s safe to chat for a few minutes. “Where’re you guys from?” Monika approaches and sets their beers, a fresh glass of whiskey, and an ice pack in front of them. He thanks Monika for the ice pack, pressing it to his cheek and she winks before heading to the taps.

 

“Kansas,” Freckles answers and the giant shoots him a look. “I’m Dean and this is my brother Sam.” Dean thumbs the air toward his brother.

 

“Brothers,” she makes a surprised face because they don’t really look much alike either. “Well, Sam and Dean,” she wipes her hands on a clean, damp bar rag. “I’m Mila.” She smiles, tossing her hair again and watching Dean’s eyes light up. “You guys in town for business,” she takes a sip of her water and scans the bar tables for empties.

 

“Yeah,” Dean answers, following her eyes with his until she returns his gaze, holds it, and she notices how pretty and mossy they are, warm and cool at the same time, and framed by long, thick lashes and crinkles that make her want to touch his face. Dean’s not like the boys she’s used to. Dean’s a man. “Probably headin’ out tomorrow.”

 

She feels a pang of disappointment and frowns playfully. “But we’re just getting to know each other,” she pouts. Dean smirks and Sam chuckles and shakes his head, rolling his eyes up to stare at the game on the TV screen.

 

Dean swivels his bar stool, his thick thighs open in that way that men do when they want the world to know they’re packing. Her eyes drop to his crotch and she licks her lips. “We got all night, sweetheart,” he says with a smirk and Sam shakes his head again, sipping his beer and focusing on the game.

 

“True,” Mila smiles and bites her bottom lip because she can see from where she stands that Dean is hard and straining against the denim of his jeans. He definitely likes causing trouble.

 

Her vision blurs slightly so she tries to blink away the fog. She clears her throat. “Gotta clear a few of these tables,” she says before trotting off the wait stand and into the malaise.

 

Dean spins to watch her work, sipping his beer and holding his cheek with an ice pack. She can feel the sheer virility in his gaze and it’s making her wet. She bends and stretches in such a way that she knows he’ll enjoy before returning to the bar to offload glassware, trash, and recycling.

 

“Where’re you guys staying?” she asks, conversationally, trying to sound like she’s not ready to mount him where he sits.

 

“Uhh, Daylight Motor Inn?” Dean looks to Sam for confirmation and Sam nods, keeping his eyes on the TV. Then Dean turns to face her again. “What time do you get off, Mila?” His voice is low and deep and she feels that question in her gut.

 

She doesn’t pull her eyes away. “We close at two,” she says, sounding a little breathy. “Clean up, maybe two-thirty?”

 

Dean picks up his whiskey and downs it as Sam finishes his beer. “Want a ride?” Dean asks, flicking his eyes back to hers.

 

If the actual fucking is anywhere near as good as the eye-fucking, she’s in for a night.

 

Mila nods, and Dean’s eyes drop to where she’s running her tongue along her bottom lip.

 

“Good,” he slams his beer and the brothers push away from the bar. “I’ll be back in an hour.” He smirks, reaching for her and wrapping a hand around the back of her neck before brushing his lips across her forehead.

 

“’Night, sis,” Sam says with a smirk and turns toward the exit. She briefly wonders if these brothers share, which is a thought that almost short-circuits her brain. She watches them leave then goes about clearing and wiping down the emptied tables.

 

Mila and Monika walk out of the bar. Across the street, Dean’s leaned against a gorgeous black ’67 Impala, arms crossed over his chest and one leg popped at the knee. He grins when they make eye contact.

 

“Jesus, Mila,” Monika mutters.

 

“Right?” Mila replies to Monika, returning Dean’s grin.

 

The girls bid each other farewell and Mila joins Dean.

 

“Hey,” she looks up at him, knowing that innocent eyelash-batting thing she does could kill a man.

 

“Hey,” he smirks down at her, reaching for her hands. He brings them to his mouth and places gentle kisses over her knuckles. He stands to his full height and her eyes travel across his broad chest and squared shoulders. Dean cocks his head and rounds the back of the car dragging her with him. He opens the passenger door and helps her inside. “Where to, sweetheart?”

 

She rattles off her address and Dean quirks his lips in a small smile before closing her door and rounding the front of the car to the driver’s side. He yanks the door open and dips inside and Mila eyes his long, strong legs as he settles in. The car roars to life and CCR blares from the stereo. Dean twists the knob to a more reasonable volume.

 

“This car is fucking beautiful,” she says, running her fingers over the pristine dashboard. “You take good care of her.”

 

Dean nods with a smirk, eyes on the road, taking the turn when she points left, guiding him to her apartment complex. “Mila, meet Baby,” he says, with that rumble in his voice and sounding like he’s a proud papa. “Baby, this is Mila.”

 

“Aww, Baby,” Mila chuckles, moving to stroke the cool leather of the bench seat. Dean’s eyes dart to where she’s lovingly caressing the space between them. He bites his lips then eyes the road again. “Just up here,” she says, pointing off to the right.

 

Dean pulls into the big parking lot and finds a space close to the building’s entrance. He turns the car off and they both get out, Mila leading him inside. Then they’re on the elevator. When the doors close, Mila hooks three fingers in the waist of his jeans and yanks him into her, wrapping her other hand around the back of his neck, fingering the soft hair at the nape, to pull him down for a kiss.

 

Her back is against the wall and Dean braces his hands on either side of her head, kissing her slow and deep, quickly sliding his tongue inside and wrapping it around hers. She pulls his full top lip between her own and sucks. His mouth is a sin to see and feel.

 

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. “Number 9,” Mila breathes and Dean backs out of the elevator car, holding her small, pale hand in one of his large, rough ones. He walks to her apartment door and watches as she digs through her bag for her key card. The mechanism beeps and blips when she slides the key in and out and Dean pushes on the lever and shoves the door open.

 

Mila drops her bag and jacket just inside the door and Dean wanders ahead of her. “Beer?” she asks, ducking into the kitchen and opening the fridge.

 

“Sounds good,” Dean pokes around her living room until she meets him at the bookcase. She hands him a beer and they clink before each taking a healthy swig.

 

“I need to shower,” she says, gnawing at the inside of her lip. She doesn’t want to wait to touch him, though, so she pushes a hand up under his t-shirt, sliding around his back. God, his body is banging and her mind spins with possibility. “Wanna come?” she slides her hand over smooth, hot flesh stretched over muscle.

 

Dean nods and sips his beer, looking down at her. “You’re a bold little thing, aren’t ya?” His eyes twinkle as he licks his lips. “Small and assertive.” He lightly runs a single finger down the side of her face and along her jaw, before grasping her chin between his thumb and finger. “You know what you want?”

 

Mila nods. “I do,” she answers. “Long legs and warm skin, nicely aged.” She takes another large swig of beer as she drags him to her bedroom. She sets their beers aside before turning back to face him. She’s wired tight and so ready to get his clothes off, pushing his heavy cotton jacket from his broad shoulders, taking the red work shirt with it.

 

“Like a fine wine?” Dean chuckles, reaching for the hem of her black ruffled top, tracing a finger along the waistband of her jeans and she pulls him in for a kiss. Both hands grip her hips and he walks her backward toward the bathroom. He dips his head into the kiss and her head spins again.

 

She hums. His tongue and lips are unhurried as they lick and pull at hers. She knew he’d be a good kisser but this is beyond good. She prays it’s just the tip of the iceberg.

 

His hands pull her top off and trace the satin straps of her bra as he continues kissing her. She pulls away momentarily to twist the shower knobs to hot, then faces him again to push his black t-shirt up his torso and over his head. She kicks her booties off then crouches to untie his, looking up at him. “What’re you doin’ down there?” Dean teases, working his belt loose with one hand and she gushes wet again.

 

She finishes getting his boots and socks off then settles on her knees to help Dean get his pants open and down. He is so fucking beautiful – all man, not an ounce of boy except the twinkle in his eyes. She’s never seen anyone so perfectly made. He’s big everywhere in just the right way and that smooth skin she’d touched earlier continues all the way to the tip of his long, thick cock.

 

“Jesus,” she wraps a hand around his thickness and strokes. “You’re a god.”

 

Dean huffs a laugh peering down at her, tucking shiny black hair behind her ear. “And you’re sweet.” Mila flicks her eyes up to hold his gaze as she licks the tip of his cock, tasting the bit of pre-cum then swirling her tongue around the thick head. She grips him as best she can in one hand then cups his balls with the other as she takes him in her mouth, never taking her eyes off his. Dean twists a handful of her hair and tugs, and she moans around him.

 

Mila likes giving head to pretty dicks. It’s not the act itself but the feeling of consuming something so beautiful, so perfect. She doesn’t like the taste but the feel is unparalleled.

 

As her jaw grows tired from the stretch, Mila pulls back to pump him with her hands and lick the head. His eyes are closed and his head is thrown back, jaw slack, and he’s panting. “I want you come on me,” she says with another swipe of her tongue. “Are you there?”

 

Dean swallows thickly and gives her a tight nod. “Take your bra off?” he rumbles, looking down at her with a kind of reverence she’s never seen. She releases him, unclasps her bra and drops it to the floor. She watches in awe as Dean spits into his hand and grips himself. He’s still twisting her hair in his other hand as he twists and pumps his throbbing cock. “Okay?” he grunts, his jaw clenched with tension bubbling under the surface. She nods throwing her head back and grasps her tits in her hands, squeezing and pushing them together, and he’s coming, covering her chest in sticky white.

 

Dean groans loud and long. They’re both panting as she climbs to her feet. “Jesus,” Dean breathes stepping out of his pants and boxers on wobbling legs. Mila shucks her jeans to the floor and he’s kissing her again. His lips are on hers as she opens the shower door and pulls him with her under the spray. Dean closes the door behind them then puts his hands on her.

 

He’s everywhere at once as the water sluices over their skin. She gets her hair wet and he runs his hands over her hips, sliding one hand between her thighs, stroking her skin, then up to run one single finger between her lips. She gasps and bucks into him, gripping his thick forearm with both hands because that’s right where she wants him. “Yes,” she hisses. “Fuck me with that big, rough hand.”

 

“Rough?” he rasps and his eyes spark. He’s looming over her with her back against the cold stone wall, one hand braced next to her head. “Is that how you want it?” He pushes his long middle finger up inside her to the last knuckle and twists.

 

She nods. “Fuck, more.” She lifts one leg to rest her foot on the stone bench, opening herself for him. He slides his pointer finger in with his middle and twists again, brushing her clit with his thumb. She’s suddenly reminded of his hands expertly wielding that pool cue at the bar and she clenches around him. “I was fantasizing all night about you fucking my ass with that pool cue,” she gasps as his fingers drag inside her and he adds another.

 

“You dirty little…” Dean drops his head to take a mouth full of her neck, biting and running his tongue over it, fucking his big hand in and out of her before slipping his ring finger from her cunt and up between her ass cheeks. His ring hits her in a spot that makes her squirm anew. “Am I gonna get here tonight?” He presses that finger against her tight hole and nips at her throat.

 

“God, I hope so,” she breathes her head back and lolling against the wall.

 

Dean ups the pace with his mouth on hers. Then she feels his ring press flat against her perineum and his finger slowly push inside her ass. Mila bucks her hips forward and back. She’s never had a guy who’d touch her there, too inexperienced, so her desires for it were always lived alone and with toys. Dean’s big, warm finger slowly fucking her back hole is an entirely new level of _holy shit that’s good_.

 

Her mind races with all the things she wants him to do and all the things she wants to do to him.

 

He’s using his whole arm to thrust into her – rough but practiced. This is not Dean’s first rodeo. Like, at all. His mouth is leaving soft bruises on her throat and her collarbones. He lifts her other leg so she’s aloft and at his mercy, hanging by her knee from his hand. She has no leverage, except the tiny bit from her arms around his neck, and he’s brutal. She is quaking and vibrating as her orgasm starts to race through her.

 

“Oh, shit!” she shouts, her voice bouncing off the walls. He keeps fucking into her with his hand and she’s wailing, spread wide open to him and wet, coming like she’s dying.

 

Dean kisses her down from her high and gently settles her on the stone bench before stepping into the hot spray of water. He washes his hands before running them over his face and through his hair. “I’m gettin’ out,” he says, pushing the door open and reaching for a towel. “Get that ass nice and clean for me, babydoll. I want a snack.” Dean winks and closes the shower door.

 

Mila groans and stands on shaky legs then sets about doing as she’s told. Once she’s squeaky clean and glistening, she exits the shower and wraps herself in a fluffy white towel. She’s buzzing with anticipation and when she enters her bedroom her mouth goes dry.

 

Dean’s gathered every candle in her apartment, scattered them about her room and lit them, and is sitting butt naked, propped up on her pillows. He’s tossing a glass dildo back and forth between his big, calloused hands like it’s a baseball. Mila flushes hot and there’s another rush of moisture between her legs.

 

“Found my toy box, I see,” she says, dropping her towel before waltzing over to where he’s made himself comfortable on her bed.

 

He playfully points the toy at her like a gun, squinting one eye like he’s taking aim, and pulls the invisible trigger with a cute little _pewgh!_ sound. Mila giggles and climbs astride him, pushing his wrists into the pillows on either side of his head and kissing him. After a minute of slowly getting reacquainted with his spectacularly erotic mouth, she sits up on his abdomen, feeling him hard against her ass.

 

Dean sighs, slipping the hand not gripping her glass dildo into her smaller one, entwining their fingers, licking in and out of her mouth before pulling at her lips with his own. “Never seen so many fuck toys in one place, to be honest,” Dean chuckles around her lips. “Impressive.”

 

“Mmm, psyched to finally have someone who knows what they are,” she mutters. “It’s usually just me and-”

 

Dean groans and rolls her to her back, immediately spreading her legs open with his knees, hovering over her, kissing. “That image,” he nips at her throat. “Of you using this thing on yourself? Fuck.” He teases her nipples with smooth, cool glass, working his way down her body, rolls it with his palm over her ribcage and across her soft belly. He grips it to lightly drag it through the wet at the apex of her wide open thighs, and she shivers, before dropping it there and resting his heavy forearms and big hands on the insides of her legs.

 

He’s got her pinned again. She’s been with guys who were rough and domineering, but never one so hyper-focused on and in-tune with her pleasure. She wishes she could bottle this moment to relive after he’s gone. She is out of her mind with lust.

 

She peers down at him and he holds her gaze as he gently parts her lips and uses his soft tongue to slowly lick up one side and down the other. He presses a light kiss to her opening and the wet sound makes her wetter. “Dean,” she sighs on his name and pushes her fingers into his soft hair, gripping him tight.

 

With each yank on his hair, Dean gets a little more forceful. He pushes his tongue inside her then slides a finger along her clit. “Gonna take care of you, pretty girl,” he slips a finger inside her and laves his flat tongue up the side of her sensitive clit. Mila melts under him.

 

Dean backs off for a brief moment. “Roll over,” he smoothes his hands over her hips and pats her on one side. She doesn’t hesitate. “Up,” he rumbles, pulling at her hips until she’s on all fours. And then he’s back at it.

 

He cups her ass cheeks in each of his large palms and opens her with his thumbs to drag his tongue from just under her clit, slipping inside, slicking as much of her wet as he can, and over that sensitive bridge to circle her tight hole.

 

“Dean, my fucking god,” she gasps backing into him and he hums into her.

 

“That’s right, baby,” he pushes his face into her, mouthing her, licking her back hole. He moves one hand, keeping her open to finger her, sliding a thumb along her cunt. The combination of his hot tongue and his thick fingertip, taking turns at her ass has got her babbling into her pillows. This moment will forever ruin her for all other men.

 

“Mila, touch yourself,” he says, continuing slow but insistent at her back hole.

 

“I want-” she whines, pressing her clit.

 

“Shh, I know what you need.” Then he spits on her hole and pushes that thick middle finger inside, slowly inching until he’s up to his second knuckle. He twists and rubs and she’s coming harder than she’s ever come in her life with another person in the room.

 

“See, baby,” he peppers kisses across her lower back, holding her steady, bringing her down, removing his fingers from her body. “Your fucking god.” He smiles against her skin.

 

Mila collapses and Dean grabs the throw from the foot of her bed, covering her before hopping up and heading to the bathroom. He leaves the door open and Mila lazily watches as he washes his hands and face then roots around her drawers. “Mouthwash?” he calls.

 

“Under the sink,” she answers. He’s a sight to behold, even as he performs basic hygiene.

 

Dean takes his time sauntering back to the bed, that seductive smirk, complete with eye crinkle caressing his perfect face, hard cock just jutting proudly, all bowlegs and swagger.

 

“We should probably do something about that,” she motions broadly at his entire lower torso, but it’s not just his cock she wants – she wants him in her, on her, around her. He crawls onto the bed to face her, each on their sides.

 

“What d’you suggest?” he asks, using one finger to pull the throw down, exposing her tits and watching her nipples pucker at the rush of air. He licks his lips and she reaches up to touch him. Dean’s eyes flick to hers and he takes two of her fingers in his mouth, swirls his tongue around them then uses his hand to press them against her nipple. His mouth covers the other and she moans.

 

“Hmm?” he rumbles into her neck, kissing and licking and biting. Pushing the throw to the floor and running his big warm hands over her sensitive skin. She practically purrs with it.

 

“I wanna feel you inside me,” she answers and he nods. “Just you, hard and deep, on top of me.” She pulls his earlobe into her mouth and sucks, as he rolls her to her back, one knee between her legs, pushing up and letting her grind down on him. He props himself on his elbows, holds her face in his hands and kisses her while she rides his thigh, trapping his cock between them, creating friction. “Condoms in the drawer,” she manages to eke out, running her hands from his shoulders down his chest.

 

Dean rises to his knees and reaches into the bedside table to open and rifle through the drawer. He finds another toy, snorts and tosses it aside then snatches a couple of foil packets from the mix.

 

“You’re somethin’ else,” he gives her a small smile, carefully rips one of the packages open with his teeth, and hands it to her. She doesn’t waste time rolling it over his length then gripping his hips. He towers over her as he opens her with a hand on each knee and moves to position himself between her legs, his fingers ghosting over her skin as he maneuvers her, spreading his own thighs to create a solid place for her ankles to rest and to hold her open. He dips in to kiss her, cupping her jaw with one hand and using his other to guide himself inside her.

 

Once he’s lined up just right, he moves his hand to hold her hip and pushes inside, in and out, working to the hilt, kissing her mouth, his thumb brushing her bottom lip, dipping inside with his tongue and around his lips. “Dean,” she breathes. There are no other words. That one word, name, syllable, is everything she needs right then – everything she wants or has ever wanted.

 

Dean sets a lazy rhythm, grinding into her, holding her, kissing her. She wonders if she can come again; not that she cares because what he’s doing is heaven. She touches him everywhere she can reach with the same unhurried fashion in which he’s fucking her. Then he moves his hand from her mouth to her cunt, pressing the heel over her clit and down, and she suddenly explodes.

 

He kisses her slow and deep as he rises to kneel upright again, gripping her hips, pulling her onto his, and upping the ante with a new angle. Her hips are narrow and his hands are so big that he can press a thumb against her clit just as he holds her in place to grind against her, staying deep inside her. She arches off the bed riding out her orgasm.

 

Just as her spasms slow, Dean settles on his haunches, gripping her hips tight and drags out but not all the way then slams back in. He recalibrates his pace and his angle and Mila can’t breathe. He’s fucking into her hard and deep and slow, the air leaving her lungs with every thrust.

 

The sounds and words coming out of her mouth are utter nonsense and Dean is grunting like an animal. Her hands dig into the covers below them and she’s yelling now. She feels Dean’s pace stutter and she wants to see him come.

 

She watches his face, mouth open, eyes closed, brow furrowed. He’s angelic and sinful and she can’t reconcile it. She’s overwhelmed and overstimulated and she feels a slow rumble in her core once again. “Oh, shit,” she sobs, disbelieving that’s she’s coming again.

 

“Yeah… fuck,” Dean whispers harsh into the air, head thrown back, fingers digging into her skin, fucking her through it.

 

He’s breathing heavy and fast when he drops to all fours over her and her legs slide from his, falling open. After a few moments of catching his breath, he reaches between then and pulls out, taking care of the condom with a Kleenex from her bedside stand.

 

They both lay staring at the ceiling in silence, other than their panting until she speaks. “Where the fuck have you been all my life?”

 

And he laughs a genuine belly laugh before rolling into her once more.

 

The next morning, Mila makes coffee and eggs and bacon, and they talk about her plan to go to art school in the spring. She tells him she’s been saving money and that she can’t wait to get out of town. She never asks what his business in town is – she has a feeling he wouldn’t tell her anyway and that’s fine with her.

 

After breakfast, Dean helps her clean up the kitchen and she walks him to the door.

 

“Thanks again,” Dean grins down at her. He takes her face in his hands and searches her eyes before kissing her lips one last time. She sighs into it when he brushes her cheek with his thumb.

 

She reluctantly pulls away from the kiss. “I should be thanking you,” she says.

 

Dean tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear and shrugs. “Mutual gratification,” he says. “Doesn’t get any better.”

 

She grins back at him. “True facts.”

 

Dean pulls her in again and places a small kiss to her forehead before turning to head down her hall and exit her apartment without looking back. Once Mila hears the outside door slam shut, she collapses onto her couch in a boneless heap and a fit of giggles.

**Author's Note:**

> Glass Jacket's my homie and my Tyler Durden.


End file.
